


Among These Barren Crags

by vigilantejam



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vigilantejam/pseuds/vigilantejam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For Ruth, who asked for it.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Among These Barren Crags

**Author's Note:**

> For Ruth, who asked for it.

The low-tar cigarette had only moderately improved his mood and had in fact made his headache worse. Determined to finish it anyway, Tanner took three drags in quick succession and dropped the stub between his knees, crushing it with a scrape of his right foot. On looking up he noticed the bin just a few feet away and tutted to himself. He pushed his hands into his pockets and felt the slim shape of the ten-pack he had impulsively purchased twenty minutes ago. He decided to absolutely not smoke any more of them and tried to think of a place in his flat where they would be out of temptation's way, but easily accessible in an emergency. Or else he'd just have to give them to some brass-necked child who would be sure to ask if he hung about near the river for much longer. He hunched his shoulders up against the wind, the collar of his heavy wool coat grazing over his ears. He heard footsteps on the stone pavement slightly before the light in his peripheral vision changed to frame the approaching figure. Tanner closed his eyes and took in a breath.

"Oh, there you are. Don't mean to disturb, but M. Mallory. He was asking after you."

"Well, here I am," Tanner opened his eyes and looked up at the Quartermaster. He had expected someone else.

"Indeed. It comes up on the tracker." Q waved the small device and Tanner wondered if he had ever seen Q without surveillance equipment if not in hand then no more than three inches away.

"You track me," Tanner tried to make his voice angry, or at least questioning, but exhaustion brought it out in a deadpan statement of the obvious.

"Only your coat."

"So not really surprised to find me."

"No, but I think it's less startling if it seems that way."

"I’m not sure it is,” Tanner said, wincing at Q's sudden concern about startling people, rather than his usual active relishing in it. “I suppose everyone else is accounted for.”

"Oh, more or less. Mostly at their desks," Q answered, tapping at his GPS screen. "Moneypenny is at the shooting range.”

There was more tapping, and in a quieter voice Q added, “Bond, obviously, is off tracker. And he dropped his tail shortly after licking champagne from the clavicle of what was apparently an extraordinarily expensive escort of indeterminate gender."

"Oh," Tanner said, unsure what to do with that information.

"Yes," Q sat down, his shoulder pressing against Tanner's.

"You don't seem. I mean. I thought you'd be more bothered."

Q shrugged, although his eyebrows remained in a tight and worried line. "I only hope he brings purloined equipment back in one piece and doesn't do too much damage to himself. We all have our coping mechanisms."

Tanner huffed out a laugh, as bitter and cool as the night air.

"You're wondering how he gets to cope with booze and sex while you sit on a bench in a bugged overcoat."

"Something like that."

Q reached across and ran his fingers under the fold of Tanner’s coat collar. With a light tug he pulled away the tiny chip, holding it up demonstrably before pocketing it. Tanner smiled weakly in thanks and then dropped his eyes to the ground. He started worrying at a piece of skin by his cuticle, first scraping at it with a fingernail, then nibbling with his teeth. The end came loose and he peeled it away. It released with a snag and Tanner hissed quietly as the raw pink skin underneath was exposed, stinging and oozing. He touched it with his tongue, more sharp cutting pain and the stannic sting on his taste buds, and hoped the saliva would be enough to hold away infection. He covered his face with his hands for a moment, then dragged them away, rubbing over his tired eyes and cheeks.

"It's a rare thing to know when it's the last time you'll see someone," he said. Q, who had been waiting quite patiently, turned slightly towards him to listen.

"I find myself deeply envious of those deciding to turn off life support machines. Of course I could hardly call them lucky, but in a way they are. It only ever comes down to the flick of a switch anyway, when you think about it. A moment when one thing becomes another, on becomes off, and that's it. What it must be to have a choice. There's a plan there, at least. Knowing and certainty, though I see how that might bring more hurt than comfort. _Time_ and time enough. Not now but soon. After we've had a chance. A modicum of control, of order, in this unpredictable, volatile, hateful existence." He was almost shouting, giving emphasis to every word. His eyes flickered across to Q, expecting a rebuke, but none came.

"They have a sense of it, I mean. A warning shot," His voice caught in his throat, and he addressed the ground again. Adrenaline was coursing through him again and made his fingers shake. His eyes glistened as he tried to see through the clouds of chemicals, to just get out, get safe. "No hastily bundling people into the back of a hijacked car for them."

"You can't blame yourself," Q said quietly, with a tentative look over the top of his glasses.

"I don't," Tanner said firmly, glaring into Q's eyes, trying to work out if he did. He thought the car was safe. 

"I'm not sure you can blame Bond either."

"Reckless," Tanner snorted and resumed his middle-distance gazing. "I used to like that about him. Apart from the paperwork."

Tanner fished the packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and with a cursory and predictably declined offer of one to Q, who had taken to wearing the expression of an exasperated mother, he took a cigarette in his teeth and lit it up. He turned the lighter over a few times between his fingertips, the metal warm from proximity to his body. Tanner stared out across the river, breathing in unsatisfyingly thin smoke. The balancing act between his emotions and professionalism was becoming more precarious as he fought to keep the two from overlapping. He had always known it could end like this. And if he were being honest with himself, he had assumed it probably would. He had spent time mentally preparing himself for assassination or kidnap attempts, explosions and shootings. But wolf had been cried too many times and the actuality and finality had conspired to surprise him. The seconds scraped by, and the minutes numbed him, and each hour brought some other piece of news, more details, surplus information that couldn't change one world-altering, world-shattering fact. Tanner took to clenching his jaw here and pressing his fingernails into his palm there, swallowing down the urge to yell, to scream at everyone to stop just _carrying on_. This wasn't normal. Everything had changed. He held his breath tight in his throat before it all began to rise within him and his legs carried him out of the building and down to the river. His breath clouded and whorled on the air and images of orange Scottish nights and billowing smoke danced on the inside of his closed eyelids. When he opened his eyes the silhouettes of streetlamps and railings made him think of the stark white daylight and blackened ruins he'd seen in the photographs.

“It had to end somewhere.”

Q might have nodded, but Tanner didn't spot it. His eyes swam out of focus as London turned to a dark grey fog in front of him.

"Come on. Pub," Q stood, and cold air rushed around Tanner's side.

"I thought Mallory wanted me," Tanner said blankly, making it clear he had no intention of going to the pub or back into that building.

"I said he was asking after you, not summoning you."

"Dismissed, then," Tanner huffed, frowning at the spot on the ground between his feet. "Suppose he'll get his own man in. Quite right."

"He's given you the night off is all," Q said with a sigh, his patience beginning to wear thin. "Me too, actually. Imagine that.”

"So you're taking me to the pub?" Tanner looked up to see Q half turned away from him, arms folded. He couldn't make out if it was with the cold, or reluctance to go through with his offer. That tatty old anorak could only offer so much protection against the wind, Tanner supposed. Not that he was feeling inclined to be much warmer.

"If you like. It seemed a better plan than leaving you to freeze out here, or stare at the walls of your office."

"I might have gone home."

Q raised a disbelieving eyebrow, "Really, William? Then we would definitely be in trouble. Just exactly when was the last time you just went home without a direct order to do so?"

Tanner scrabbled for a shred of something in his memory but it wriggled out of his grasp. He crushed out the glowing end of his cigarette and got to his feet.

"Pub then." 

Tanner turned his debugged collar up, buried his hands in his pockets, and shrugged his shoulders up. He turned automatically towards The Crown, just the other side of the road and where vague ideas of drink usually led, but Q caught him by the elbow. Tanner let himself be steered away from the stark glass and aluminium of Vauxhall Cross and over the bridge, the dark water rolling and swirling beneath them.

“Where are we going?” Tanner asked as they turned into the narrow side streets of Pimlico.

“Away from the usual lot. Bit quieter.”

Q pulled on a rather plain door Tanner had assumed belonged to someone's house, there being no sign or name above it, and little indication anyone was welcome inside. They stepped in and were greeted by warm lighting, the place full of glowing amber lamps casting deep brown shadows. A few small groups of people relaxed into worn and slightly scruffy leather furniture, their conversation gently buzzing against old wood and layers of wallpaper. Soft music played from somewhere, although Tanner couldn't see any speakers. Maybe there actually was a piano in another room. He and Q sat up at the bar, in front of the long row of draught beer pumps. The polite barman took their order and delivered their drinks with an efficiency of movement and without fuss or conversation. Had Tanner not been quite so determined to be miserable, he might have started to enjoy himself.

“I can’t begin to think how you know of this place,” he said.

“I don’t,” Q replied gulping at a gin and tonic as if it were lemonade. “Mallory mentioned it.”

Tanner frowned, dropped his eyes to the bar and began worrying at a beer mat. “Mallory again. Didn’t know he was such a keen expert on my preferences.”

“Oh fuck off sulking, Bill,” Q said, raising his voice enough to startle the lone drinker at a nearby table. “I’ve never known anyone so ungrateful for a pint and a night off. He notices things, remembers them. And you _like him_. Besides which, you do it too.”

“What?”

“You store away little details about people.”

“It’s my _job_ ,” Tanner said in the most withering of his talking-to-morons voices.

“Yes, but you do it with things that are not your job,” Q answered, in an equal tone.

“Everything is my job. And it is not _his_ job to order you to take me out.”

“He didn’t _order_ me,” Q’s voice hit a pitch Tanner thought was unwise in a room full of so much glass. “Christ, he just said if I were so inclined there was a place he thought you’d like. Beginning to wish I hadn’t bothered.”

Tanner sighed. “Just go then. I'm not about to stop being such terrible company. I don't think there’s much to be done to fix that just now.”

There was a beat before Q turned to look Tanner dead in the eye.

"Quick handy in the gents?"

Beer sprayed from Tanner's mouth and over the hand he clamped there too late.

"You know, I don't think I've ever heard that phrase enunciated so precisely before," he spluttered and held his dripping hand away from his clothes.

"But you have heard it. Interesting."

Tanner's teeth showed in a brief flash of something somewhere between a smile and a grimace before he drew his lips back into a thin line and resumed scowling. He reached for a handful of napkins to mop up his mess.

"Laughing, it. It doesn’t feel right," He said after a pause, wiping his face.

"Sorry. Booze and sex,” Q said, by way of explanation. “I'm running out of ideas. It was either that or back to my place."

Tanner's eyebrows shot up his face and Q hastily added, "The old tenant left a rather hideous collection of mismatched crockery I’m keen to be rid of."

The idea of smashing things made Tanner's skin tingle all over. He flexed his hands against the warm wooden bar top as he pushed down the urge to grab Q by the lapels and drag him away to wherever this suggested stash of ceramic was. He imagined piles and piles of heavy bowls with sludgy brown and green geometric patterns, cracking and booming as they split in half. His heart skipped as delicate teacups with pink roses exploded into a million pieces, puffing out into clouds and twinkling dust. There were stacks of cheap white plates that he could slam straight down into shattering heaps. The cacophony of the various sounds and vibrations they would make as they were flung at the walls and floor built up, filling Tanner's ears with overtures that raised the hairs on his neck and arms. The air was thickening with particles of paint and pottery, and Tanner could smell it, taste it, as it suffocated him. 

“What was that?” He focused back into the room, aware that Q had said something but completely lost as to what it might have been.

“I said, another? Should have just enough time before I get you on the last tube.”

Q tilted his head to the side and looked for all the world like a very kindly nurse. 

"Look, do me a favour and stop fucking coddling me, alright? I don't need buffering from the world, I don't need numbing with alcohol, and I don't need fucking jokes. Save all that for Bond. Just. Just let me fucking _be_." Tanner scraped back his stool and stood up.

"I wasn't-" Q started, making to follow him.

"And stop looking at me like that. I'm out of it."

Tanner marched out of the warm cocoon of the pub and the contrasting air outside stung his face. He stalked off without looking to check if Q was behind him.

 

***

 

M’s arrival at Q-Branch was as loud as it was unexpected. Clipped and hurried footsteps followed the heavy bang of the door and before Q could process who on earth could be making so much noise before his team was adequately caffeinated, a voice was booming around the vast office.

“Tanner here?”

“No sir,” Q answered, glancing around as a matter of course but in the full knowledge that no one but Q-Branch technicians had been in the laboratory that morning.

“Right. Consider him absent without leave. Find him, Quartermaster, again. As a matter of priority.”

Before a second bang of the door had faded away, Q was on the phone to Moneypenny, hunting for any scrap of further information.

“How long has he been missing?” he asked, as she answered.

“Just this morning. We’ve not heard a thing from him,” Eve sounded worried, and that meant this was bad. ”The doorbreakers went to his flat but he’s not there. No sign of a struggle.”

“So he’s just vanished? He would bloody do this after I debug his bloody coat, wouldn’t he,” Q pushed a hand through his hair, his mind rolling through conversations and meetings, grasping for any hint about where Tanner could have gone.

“Honestly Q,” Eve said in an admonishing tone Q had become quite used to. “Is there anyone in this organisation you’re not monitoring?”

“And with good reason, appar- Wait. Say that again.”

“Is there anyone you’re not monitoring?”

“Oh bollocks.” Q tipped forward and planted his head squarely upon the desk and half the keyboard in front of him. “I know where he’s gone.”

“What? Where?”

“Just tell M I’m dealing with it.”

Q rang off and scooped up his laptop and anorak.

“Whoever is least likely to let this place fall to pieces in the next twenty-four hours, you are now in charge,” he called over his shoulder. “I may be some time.”

 

***

 

The old chapel looked as it did in the pictures. But the smell, he hadn’t quite been ready for that. There was the stone and old forgotten paper he was expecting, but with the addition of lingering smoke and gunpowder. And there, mixed among it all, the barely perceptible but simultaneously overpowering scent of blood. It stung the roof of Tanner’s mouth with a thousand iron needles and he lurched outside, the world pitching and tipping from side to side around him. The light burned his eyes and his throat closed up as he fell to the ground. His shaking arms barely held him up as he gulped and choked on the clean air. His body rocked as bitter saliva filled his mouth and he heaved forwards, emitting the paltry contents of his stomach over the grass. He retched until he had nothing more to cough out than small flecks of bile. He rolled away onto his back, trembling with fear and fury.

The tears came quickly then. Half blind with salt water and savagery, Tanner staggered back inside on newborn limbs. He thrashed at the air, his arms swinging aimlessly and low sounds beginning to tumble from his mouth. When his knuckles made contact with the rough stone, the scratching pain shocked him into stillness. This lasted only a moment as with sudden clarity he proceeded to kick and punch everything within his reach. The crack of his shoe hitting the creaking and worm-ridden pews again and again give rhythm to his wordless wailing and built to a crescendo among the wooden beams twelve feet above him. His heart rate became erratic, each beat pushing at his throat and squeezing his lungs. His hands crunched into the walls, right then left then right, the pain shooting through his arms. He could feel himself falling away from reality, but each jolt brought him back, grounded him. His shredded and bloody skin and exposed fibres giving him a focus and feeling he could name.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, all the fight left him and he sank to his knees where the altar would have been and cursed a God he had long since given up believing in. His breathing hitched in and sobbed out, becoming slowly more controlled until he was still completely, and folded himself up on the floor.

He woke with stinging eyes to see the blurry shape of Q crouched by his side, stroking his arm with firm but cautious pressure. Tanner blinked a few fresh tears away as he sat up and tried to reorientate himself. Neither spoke as Q held him by the shoulders and walked him out into the light and fresh air.

 

“You took your time,” Tanner said, finally, his voice cracked and broken.

“Bloody trains.”

“And no tracking this time.”

“Had I known you were a flight risk I might not have told you about that.”

“A little over-qualified to play fetch, aren't you? Plenty of grunts to dispatch, I would have thought.”

“Tact seemed to dictate that I do this one myself.”

Tanner considered the revelation that Q was familiar with the social conventions of tact and therefore usually wilfully ignored them, and the further implications of him not doing so in this case. He forgot for a moment that his face and hands and clothes were stained with dirt and blood and tears and measured his height, bulk, and strength against those of the Quartermaster.

“Why are you being careful with me?” Tanner stood, his sleep-stiffened joints creaking as he straightened his spine.

“I- I'm sorry. About before," Q said. "And if you're not coming back, I understand. If it's too soon, I mean."

Tanner tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at Q. “You're _protective_ of me?”

Q remained seated on the ground, and silently picked at the moss growing between the uneven paving.

“Oh my god, you are.”

Tanner leaned down, clapped his hand on Q's shoulder and felt him flinch under the contact.

"I'm assuming this is as much of a departure for you as it is for me?"

"Somewhat, yes." Q raised his head and scrambled ungainly to his feet.

They stood quietly for a moment until Q looked away again, the silence becoming awkward. Tanner couldn't tell if he wanted to tell Q something or if he was waiting for Q to speak first. He let his hand drop from Q's shoulder and felt the tension ease a little.

"I think you might be a good friend, Q." Tanner said, smiling for what felt like the first time in a very long time. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sound so surprised."

"No no, I'm as surprised as anyone," Q responded, and looked up at Tanner again. "I mean you're not exactly-"

"I know."

"And I'm. Well.”

"Yes."

"But this is-”

"Ok?"

"Ok."

"Christ."

Q rolled his eyes and walked a few paces. Tanner looked down at his clothes. His dark suit was crumpled and scuffed, highlighted with tracks of dirt and scratchy with the grit caught between the creases. One side of his shirt hung out of his trousers, and although three of his top buttons were undone, he was still wearing his tie. Tanner wasn’t about to take a full sniff, but he felt the skin of his face crack under movement and salt and knew that he must stink of dried sweat and dust. His shoes had lost their shine, and were quite ragged across the toes.

"Ready to go? I hope you brought a car, because I told the cab not to wait." Q said.

"You got a cab out here?"

"Well, what else could I do, I don't bloody drive."

"Of course you don't. It's up there," Tanner gestured in the direction of the road, where he had left the car and where Q must have seen it on his way down. He turned and started walking towards it.

"Oh Christ, you're limping."

Tanner smiled weakly. "I may have broken my foot."

"Tch."

Q didn't offer any support, and Tanner was thankful not to have to turn it down. Together they started picking their way across the scrubland and rough tracks up to the road, and back to England.

 

***

 

Tanner paused and took a small beat to himself before he pulled open the door. He had been bracing himself somewhat and was sure Bond would detect the tension running through his body.

"Good morning, Double-oh Seven."

"Good morning, Tanner."

"He'll see you now."

Tanner tried to smile, but his lips stopped at a firm line. He stepped aside, but Bond moved in deliberately close to him. Tanner dropped his face away from Bond's searching eye contact, his gaze fixing on the files under his right arm as he tightened his grip on them further, clinging to them like some kind of life raft. As Bond passed through the door their matching bruised and scuffed knuckles touched for a second.

Bond closed the door behind him and Tanner exhaled, the breath he hadn't realised he had been holding puffing out of him as his mind reeled, his body momentarily immobilised.

"Not that bad, was it?" Moneypenny asked from her desk.

"Hmm," Tanner mumbled in response.

He stepped across the hall to his own office and stopped just short of throwing his files on top of the object on his desk. The book, with its worn binding and yellowing edges, lay there with no note of explanation as to how it had got there. Tanner knew of course. He placed the stack of files carefully to the side, pulled up a chair, and made himself comfortable. He turned his full attention to the book. He ran a finger lightly over the soft and wrinkled dark green leather, contemplating its age. He took it between his hands and stood it on its spine, then let go and let the pages fall open where they would. His mouth curved into a small sad smile, and he began to read.


End file.
